


once this spark met kindling

by mercutioes



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Festivals, Getting Together, Kindrali Memories, M/M, Trans Male Character, post-Winter-in-Hieron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/mercutioes
Summary: throndir and red jack and a festival





	once this spark met kindling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elestaus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elestaus/gifts).



> commish for ele!!!!
> 
> this was incredibly challenging and fun to write! i love these rowdy boys! also, thanks to everyone who reminded me what the fuck even happened in winter in hieron.
> 
> title from "river" by akron/family

The seasons have become almost meaningless, with the erratic sun and cold moons, but people — wherever they happen to be — cling to all things cyclical and predictable and familiar.

A few of the refugees have been counting the days, or as close as they can get with the inconsistent lengths of sun and moon-shine.  It’s the sixth Olday at the University and the people are restless with a desire to take their minds off the world at large, to find solace in celebration once again.  Gabriel announces that it is close approaching the harvest season, and while they don’t yet have any crops to harvest, the group at large decides to hold Olesina anyways.

“The festival is basically as old as Velas itself,” Rosana explains as Throndir helps her shape dumplings, plump with finely chopped vegetables.  His fingers are still a little clumsy but he’s improving (though she still shapes them at twice his rate). “It’s good to have a day after so much work to spend with family.  Hadrian and I used to — well. It doesn’t matter so much anymore what we used to do, does it?”

Throndir’s not sure what to say to that but he’s saved by Benjamin running up and demanding to help his mother.  She smiles tiredly, running her hand over his tightly-coiled hair.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she says, pinching off a chunk of dough for him to roll out on the flat stone.  “Thank you, Throndir. I think we’ve got it from here.”

Throndir smiles kindly, setting down the dumpling he’d been working on amidst the others.

“I can’t wait to try those,” he says, and Rosana pats him on the arm.

“I’ll make sure to save some for you,” she replies.

The day passes in a whirl of activity — Throndir hasn’t seen the refugees this driven since they arrived, the pervasive uneasiness that usually covers the University has given way to a joy and anticipation that they sorely need.  Throndir helps where he can, helping strike up makeshift tents and carrying armfuls of firewood and corralling the children so they don’t get underfoot while their parents are making preparations.

On one end of the grassy field that comprises their improvised festival grounds, Red Jack sets up his bar.  He hasn’t had a reason to set it up with everything that’s happened, so Throndir’s only ever heard tell. It looks even more ridiculous in person — a makeshift table with makeshift stools, bottles upon bottles hanging haphazardly off Ace’s saddle and clinking together gently in the breeze.  

“Ace looks ready for the party,” Throndir calls as he approaches.  Red Jack looks up from mixing some kind of concoction, grinning. He’s wearing a thin robe, dark blue and soft-looking in contrast to the red of his skin.

“That he is,” Red Jack replies, voice booming in the open air.  “It’s been far too long since we’ve entertained, hasn’t it?” He pats Ace on his flank affectionately and Ace gives a happy whinny, shaking his mane.

Throndir helps him out until the afternoon sun hangs heavy in the sky and the festivities begin.  He sits on one of the barstools and watches kids running from tent to tent, clutching sweets and little trinkets they’ve won from the game booths.  People begin to pass through Red Jack’s bar and Throndir realizes that he’s never really seen Red Jack in his element, laughing and mixing drinks and telling story after story.  

Emmanuel slides onto a barstool and gives Throndir an amicable nod.  Throndir only really knew him tangentially until he came here, but he’s been helpful and friendly and hard-working.  Throndir smiles at him, raising his glass in greeting. Red Jack doesn’t even ask what he wants, just pours a delicate amber liquid into a glass and hands it to him.  Emmanuel takes a sip and his eyes go wide.

“ _Tristero_ , where did you get this?” he asks quietly.  “I haven’t seen this since…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Red Jack replies, grinning.  “Happy Olesina.”

A few musicians have started playing — only a couple instruments made it out of Velas but they were lucky enough to discover a dusty room in the University with well-preserved guitars and violins and clarinets.  They’ve been discovering a lot of rooms like that — sealed off during the fall of the institution only to be rediscovered now. Some have been full of useful supplies — preserved seeds, clothing, tools — and others have been… less so (Throndir thinks with a shudder of the tiny supply room off the operating theater that was filled only with eyeballs in jars).

“You know, I helped build this place,” Red Jack says, leaning his elbows on the bar next to Throndir.

“Yeah?”

“You should’ve seen it when it was in full swing,” he continues, gazing out over the tents and people at the high, crumbling walls.  “They were doing some incredible things here.”

Throndir feels a tingle at the base of his skull, the itch that marks the surfacing of a memory that is not his own.  He-Who-Remembers-the-Day has seen something familiar here. One moment he's looking up at the near-collapsing tower and the next —

 

 _He's thrust into blinding daylight, heat and the smell of sweat in the air.  There's the disconcerting sensation of inhabiting a body — Kindrali's body — that is much, much larger than his own._  
  
_The walls of the University are no longer crumbling but instead under construction — masons directing crews to move heavy stones and bricks, scaffolding up the half-built tower and statuary on the grass, ready to be affixed to the stonework.  Distantly, he sees Red Jack among the workers, hauling stones and shouting to the others as he moves. He looks... younger, somehow. His hair is in a long braid and he doesn't have quite so many scars across his broad chest (though apparently, his aversion to shirts has lasted through the centuries)._

 _He shouts an indistinct greeting to Kindrali when he sees him, grinning.  There’s a warm thrill in his chest. Kindrali approaches Red Jack, the people in his peripheral vision blurring in the way of memories.  Red Jack claps a huge hand on Kindrali’s equally huge shoulder, begins to say something, but_ —

 

The memory bursts like a soap bubble and Throndir’s back on his barstool, gripping his glass.

“You alright, ranger?” Red Jack asks.  Throndir takes a shaky sip of his drink.

“Yeah, just… thinking.”  He pauses. The sun’s dropping lower in the sky, streaks of pink and orange beginning to show.  “Hey, do you wanna, uh, walk around? Together?” And then, quickly, “You seem to know more about this festival than I do, so...”

“That the only reason?”  Red Jack’s grinning as he begins to close up shop for the night, corking bottles and setting glasses aside.  Throndir can feel a light flush on his cheeks and hopes that Red Jack assumes it’s the alcohol.

“Well, I — you tell good stories, too,” he finishes, knocking back the last of his drink.  Red Jack laughs and emerges from behind the bar. He quickly frees Ace of the saddle and harnesses and watches him trot off to an open part of the field.  Kodiak, who’s been sitting at Throndir’s feet, runs off to join him.

“I’m glad those two are friends,” Throndir says, grinning at the bizarre sight of a huge horse and a huge dog playing like children out in the grass.

“They’re special creatures,” Red Jack replies, wiping his hands off on a rag and throwing it onto the counter.  “Well? Shall we?”

They wander together between tents — some people have made small crafts, bits of carving or woven cloth or beautiful dyed scarves.  Normally, Red Jack explains, this would be as much a market as it is a festival. As it stands, though, none of the refugees have any use for money and there are so few of them that bartering or exchange seems silly and pointless.

They spot Ephrim in a small patch of grass a ways away from any of the tents, performing little fire tricks for a couple of rapt children.  They watch, entranced, as he flicks a flame between his fingertips and then pops it in his mouth, exhaling a long plume of smoke. Throndir waves and Ephrim throws him a tight smile.  He’s still wound tight, disillusioned and bitter, but it’s good to see him trying, at least for today.

Closer to the center of the festival, other people have set up makeshift games in ramshackle booths — the small group of children crowd around, clamoring for prizes, but an equal number of adults try their hands, laughing like children themselves.  Someone that Throndir doesn’t quite recognize is running a darts game with colorful feathers attached to sharp metal shaft and a pockmarked board with a crudely painted bullseye, the center of which is no bigger than the tip of his thumb.

“You going to try your hand?” Red Jack says, nudging Throndir in the arm with his elbow.  Throndir laughs, shrugging.

“I don’t think it’d be fair,” he says, rubbing absently at the place where Red Jack touched him.

“Don’t get arrogant yet,” Red Jack replies.  “Win me one of those baubles first, _ranger_.”  The way he says it sends heat to Throndir’s cheeks — he thanks all the gods that his skin doesn’t show it easily.

“You’re serious?” he asks, looking at Red Jack with disbelief.  Red Jack grins.

“When have you ever known me to be anything less than serious?”

“Fine,” Throndir accedes, stepping up to the booth.  He weighs the dart in his palm, imagining how it will feel to throw, how its shape will curve and wobble in its trajectory and how he will compensate.

"Prize is doubled if you get it on the first try," says the man running the game, winking at him.  Throndir grins back, the challenge humming in his veins despite himself. He breathes deep as if he's lining up a shot to bring down game.  He exhales and throws.

It hits the bullseye with a _twang_!  Red Jack laughs delightedly behind him.

"Well done!" exclaims the man.  He hands Throndir the prize — a small carved instrument that fits in his palm, round and dotted with holes.  He considers it for a moment before turning and tossing the instrument to Red Jack.

"Here," he says, grinning.  "Told you it wouldn't be fair."

"I see your point."  Red Jack looks around at the rest of the games.  "I suppose it's only fair if I win something for you as well."

Throndir expects him to head straight for the booth boasting contests of strength but he detours to a game that doesn't even look like a game — just an old woman sitting in a chair, pile of perfectly smooth river-rocks in her lap.  Red Jack nods his head to her as he approaches, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of her chair. Even seated, he's almost eye-level with her wizened face.

"I certainly won't try to guess at _your_ age," she says, and Red Jack chuckles.

"Certainly not," he agrees.  Throndir hovers nearby, leery of intruding on the exchange.  Red Jack hums. "I wonder if you would let me try to guess yours."  The old woman laughs, a croaking whisper of a thing.

"Well!  Go ahead, you've made me curious.”

What follows is inscrutable to Throndir.  Red Jack asks her a series of seemingly absurd and unrelated questions — _how long was your hair on your twelfth birthday?  Who is wiser, the light of the sun or the glow of the moon?  Do you believe in the crow's flight?_

Her answers are equally inscrutable — _eight inches, one for each day and the last for the dark.  The lantern of our own making. If the crow believes, then it cannot concern me._

"You," Red Jack says finally, "are exactly as old as the last stone in this tower."

The woman breaks out in a toothy grin, handing him one of the smooth stones in her lap.

"He's a tricky one," she tells Throndir, who's still standing wide-eyed off to the side.  "Better watch out for him."

Red Jack tosses him the stone.  "Keep it on you," he says. "You never know when you might need it."

 

_You never know when you might need it, Red Jack says, pressing the stone into Kindrali's hand.  Kindrali closes his fingers around the stone, feeling its pull that grounds it to this place — this place where they will do such incredible things and learn the rules of the universe and work to push back the ever-encroaching dark, the persistent heat._

_Thank you, my friend, Kindrali replies.  He leans forward, presses a kiss to Red Jack's forehead.  Thank you._

 

Throndir shakes himself, the stone still heavy in his palm.  Red Jack's still looking at him expectantly.

"I — I'll keep it with me," he manages.  "Promise."

The festival's winding down now, the sun hanging heavy in the sky.  It's almost dark and Red Jack suggests sitting up on the hill near his tent to see the fireworks, a little distance away from the group of yelling children.

"Hey," Throndir says, settling next to Red Jack on the grass and leaning back on his hands.  "Uh, thanks. For today."

"Nothing to thank me for," Red Jack replies, dark eyes fixed on the darkening sky.  "You're meant to spend Olesina with friends."

Something warm clenches in Throndir's chest at that.  He inches closer, enough to feel the heat radiating from Red Jack's bare skin.

The first of the fireworks go off over their heads, showers of red and green and blue.  It's a combination of magic and chemistry that sends the sparks into the air, popping and sizzling.  They can hear the children calling out near the main camp, screaming with delight at the colors and sounds

Throndir looks over at Red Jack, the play of colored light off his skin, the sheen of his hair and the gentle curve of his smile.  He can't look away, not even when Red Jack turns and catches him staring.

They look at each other.  The fireworks crack.

Throndir huffs a breath, leans up, and kisses him.

Red Jack hums against his lips, a low contented rumble, and kisses back gently and carefully.  He’s so warm, like the cold means nothing to him, and Throndir shivers as he brings one clawed hand to gently cup Throndir’s cheek.  It’s relatively chaste, just lips against lips, but Throndir swears he’s never felt hotter in his sixty years.

“Well,” says Red Jack when he pulls back, huge palm still on Throndir’s cheek, smiling.  “I suppose I should have known, huh?”

Throndir grins, leaning back in to catch his lips again.  It’s barely any time at all before he’s climbing onto Red Jack’s lap, straddling one tree-trunk thigh to better kiss him.  Red Jack’s hands are sturdy on his waist, his lips much gentler than Throndir might have imagined. It’s a little frustrating, really — he’s not delicate, _especially_ now that he’s part of the Lance.  He bites at Red Jack’s lip, hoping to spur him into rougher action.  Red Jack grins, digging his long fingers into Throndir’s hips and nipping at him in return.  Throndir gasps, hands in Red Jack’s hair.

They part after what feels like an hour, the last of the fireworks still bursting over their heads and bathing them in a blue-green glow.  Red Jack laughs in that deep rumble of his and Throndir laughs with him, resting his head in the crook of Red Jack’s neck and feeling the rise and fall of his chest through his thin robe.

“Wanna go inside?” Throndir asks, smiling against the skin of Red Jack’s neck.  Red Jack laughs again, running a hand down Throndir’s back.

“You’re not shy at all, are you?” he chuckles.  Throndir pulls back to look at him.

“Not really,” he says, grinning.  “I lost that a while ago. So — you wanna?”

“I would like that,” Red Jack replies.  He stands, lifting Throndir as he goes and setting him on his feet.  It sends heat down into the pit of Throndir’s stomach, to be handled so easily — he’s not a small person and it’s not often he feels that kind of strength.

They make their way into Red Jack’s tent — it’s bigger than some of the others but still cozy, warm from the banked fire near the center of the room.  Red Jack stretches out on the pile of blankets and furs that serve as a bed. Throndir grins and strips off as quickly as he can — habits left over from growing up in Auniq where taking time getting undressed was a one-way ticket to frostbite.  When he’s down to his smalls, he crawls on top of Red Jack, straddling his hips and steadying himself with hands on his chest.

He leans down to kiss Red Jack because he’s _allowed to do that now_.  He gasps quietly into his mouth as the kiss gets heated again — still slow, but deep and full of intent.

“Wow,” he breathes as he pulls back to look at him, and the expression on his face must be dazed because Red Jack laughs again, running a hand up and down Throndir’s bare back.  Not for the first time, Throndir notices the gleam of silver at Red Jack’s nipples. He pushes the robe to the sides to reveal his chest properly, miles of deep crimson skin spread out in front of him.

“You can touch, if you like,” Red Jack says, grinning up at him.  Throndir does, exploring the silver barbells with the tips of his fingers, the way they stretch the skin.  He tugs at one experimentally, looking up at Red Jack’s face to gauge his reaction. His eyes have slipped shut, slight smile on his parted lips.  Throndir can’t help himself. He bends down and sucks one nipple into his mouth, tugging at the barbell with his teeth and laving his tongue over the tip.  Red Jack’s gasp is gratifying, as is the way his fingers dig into Throndir’s hips. Throndir’s cunt throbs — he can feel himself soaking through his smalls as he pulls back to look at Red Jack again.

“They’re really pretty,” he says, unthinking.  “You’re pretty.”

Red Jack laughs loudly, pulling Throndir back in for another kiss.  “I have to say, ‘pretty’ is a new one for me.”

“Sorry!”

“No, no, I like it.”  Red Jack’s smile is fond as he brushes some of Throndir’s hair out of his face.  “C’mere.”

They kiss for what feels like hours, until Throndir’s lips are swollen and he has to pull back for air.  Red Jack tightens his hold on Throndir’s hips — he realizes that Red Jack’s hard underneath him and that he’s been unconsciously grinding down as they kiss.  His eyes slip shut and he bites hard on his lip as Red Jack slips a finger between his thighs, feeling how he’s soaked through and rubbing at his hard cock through his smalls.

“This okay?” he asks, and Throndir nods, grasping at Red Jack’s shoulders to ground himself.

“It feels really good, _oh_ —”

Red Jack tugs the wet fabric to the side and gets two fingers on his bare cock, already so slick.  Throndir braces himself on Red Jack’s chest, nails digging into his chest as he bears down on Red Jack’s fingertips.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” he gasps.  Red Jack hums in response, keeping the pace steady and languid.  His fingers are so _big_ , so easy to grind down on.  He rides his hand until he’s close, whining and jerking in Red Jack’s grip.

“I’m going to —”

“Wait,” Red Jack says, pulling away.  Throndir whines again at the loss and Red Jack chuckles.  “Take these off and get up here.”

It takes Throndir a second to catch onto what Red Jack wants, but once he does a flush suffuses his cheeks and he scrambles to get his smalls off.  Finally bare, he lets Red Jack guide him up to straddle his face. He worries for a moment about putting too much of his weight on Red Jack but he pulls Throndir down by the hips and every thought dissipates at the first touch of his tongue.

Red Jack eats him out slow, alternating long strokes of his tongue with lips wrapped around his cock, sucking hard.  He lets out these deep, satisfied noises that make Throndir squirm and gasp as he rides his face.

“Please, can I have a finger, I need —”

He groans when Red Jack obliges him, one long finger slipping into his dripping cunt.  He fucks him in time with the tongue on his cock, hurtling headlong towards his peak.

“Another, ah, _please_ ,” he manages, desperate to feel full.  He’s got one hand fisted in Red Jack’s hair, biting down on the knuckles of the other.  “Shit, Jack, I’m so close, I’m gonna —”

He tumbles over the edge as Red Jack crooks his fingers and sucks hard, bearing down on his face and tugging hard at his hair as he shakes and clenches around the fingers inside him.

When he finally calms, he crawls back down the bed and collapses on Red Jack’s chest, still panting.  Red Jack laughs quietly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He’s got slick all down his chin, shiny in the low light.  Throndir kisses him softly, tasting himself on Red Jack’s lips.

“That was amazing,” he breathes, pillowing his head on one of Red Jack’s pecs.  He hums, petting Throndir’s hair with one hand. All at once, Throndir realizes that Red Jack is still hard, his cock pressing against his hips.  He sits up, limbs shaky but holding, and shuffles a little further down the bed.

“Can I take care of you?” he asks.  The look on his face must be desperately earnest because Red Jack smiles, cupping his face and stroking his thumb over his cheek.

“You certainly can, ranger,” he says, smile widening to a sharp grin, and Throndir grins back before dipping his head to tongue at the wet spot in Red Jack’s smalls.  His gasp is gratifying and Throndir sucks harder through the fabric, relishing the salt-musk of his pre-cum soaking through.

“I wanna see you,” he says, lips against the crown of Red Jack’s dick.  Red Jack nods his assent and Throndir pulls his smalls down enough to let his cock spring free.  He inhales quietly — Red Jack is _huge_ , big enough that Throndir would need two hands to jerk him off properly.

“Fuck, I want that in me,” he breathes, a little bit starry-eyed, and Red Jack laughs loudly.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he replies, sliding a hand into Throndir’s hair.  “Your mouth is fine for tonight.”

Throndir fits his mouth around the head of Red Jack’s dick — it’s sloppy but he’s too far-gone for finesse now.  Besides, Red Jack doesn’t seem to mind judging by the way he groans low and tightens his grip on Throndir’s hair.  He can only fit his mouth around a third of Red Jack’s dick without choking — he tries his best to slide down another inch or two but has to pull back, gagging.  Something to work up to, he thinks, and instead runs his tongue up the length of him before wrapping a hand around the part he can’t reach with his mouth.

Red Jack swears, claws digging into Throndir’s scalp.  “God, your _mouth_ —” he bites out, and it sends heat into the pit of Throndir’s stomach.  The throbbing in his cunt is still insistent, and he grinds himself down onto Red Jack’s leg as he teases the head of his cock with the tip of his tongue, jerking him off in time with the suction of his mouth.

“Throndir, I’m close,” Red Jack grunts.  Throndir hums around him, pulling off with one last flick of his tongue to his frenulum.  He wraps his other hand around Red Jack, grinning up at him.

“Come on,” he urges, “come on.”

Red Jack comes with a low groan, spattering hot across Throndir’s face and chest.  There’s so much of it, Throndir can hardly believe it. He wipes at his face with wonder, licking cum off his fingers.  Red Jack groans again.

“You’re going to kill me,” he says, and Throndir laughs.  Red Jack shifts his leg and brushes his cock, reminding him of his own arousal.  He trails into a gasp, instinctively bearing down to chase the friction. “C’mere.”

Red Jack guides Throndir so he’s lying on his side, back to Red Jack’s broad chest.  He slips his hand between Throndir’s legs, one strong arm across his chest holding him steady as he works Throndir’s cock between two fingers.  It doesn’t take long at all for Throndir to come now since he’s already come once. He shudders, clutching at the arm across his chest as Red Jack works him through the aftershocks.

He flips over when he’s recovered enough, burying his face between Red Jack’s pecs and slipping his arms as far as they can go around his middle.  Red Jack chuckles, holding him close.

“Doing alright down there?” he teases, and Throndir groans in response, mumbling something indistinct into his chest.  “That’s what I thought.”

Throndir gathers himself enough to pull back and look up at Red Jack’s face, smiling at the fondness in his eyes.

“Thanks for this.  I really liked it,” he says, and then, “I _really_ like you.  Is that... okay?”

“‘Course it is,” Red Jack replies, running fingers through Throndir’s hair.  Throndir sighs, humming happily as he presses his face into Red Jack’s chest again, suddenly overwhelmingly sleepy.

“Happy Olesina,” he mumbles, half-asleep, and Red Jack chuckles.

“Happy Olesina.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me @mercutioes on twitter! i also have a ko-fi at ko-fi.com/mercutioes. if you would like a fic of your own, DM me!


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